


Sophomore year.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Trapped In A Closet, literally that's it, purely self indulgent, written for a friend, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9800165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire are trapped in an art supply closet on their way to a meeting, surprising (or unsurprising) revelations are made.





	

  
  
The supply closet was certainly not the worst place to be stuck, though Grantaire could think of about twenty other places he’d prefer. The worst thing about being stuck was, being stuck in a five foot space with Enjolras. Looking back on it, their predicament was most certainly preventable, if Grantaire hadn’t tried to pry the door open; if Enjolras hadn’t wriggled the handle so hard it had fallen off then maybe they’d be out and back on their way to the meeting with the art supplies R needed. Now though, they were stuck in a supply closet with no real hope of getting out anytime soon. The rest of the amis were in class or on their way to the meeting and seeing how none of them knew that R and Enjolras had stopped the closet in the first place, it was doubtful that they’d even look for them until well into the meeting, or even after it. Grantaire slammed his head against the door.   
  
sEnjolras sat on top of an upturned bucket, Grantaire could hear his foot tapping on the floor, a beat he couldn't recognise. His hands were drumming against his thigh, R had to turn his head to keep from looking at Enjolras; if there was one thing he didn't want to do to the person he was stuck in a closet with, it was creep him out. His internal mantra was repeating over and over in his brain, he muttered to himself, peering through the hole that doorknob had left.   
  
“What?” Enjolras said looking at him from under his infuriatingly perfect blond curls.   
  
“Huh?” Grantaire turned around, looking at Enjolras, his brows were crinkled and his head was tilted to the side like a lost puppy.   
  
“You were talking, muttering something under your breath; you have been for the last five minutes, it’s a bit annoying really,” Enjolras shrugged, he looked a little forlorn sitting on the bucket, his long legs folded awkwardly.   
  
“Oh, uh, I wasn't saying anything,” Grantaire muttered his face going blank, as he sat down on another bucket. “So, how are we going to get out of here? Could you call someone?”  
  
“My phone’s dead,” Enjolras scratched the back of his neck, his face going red, “I forgot to charge it last night, it was on 8% in history.”  
  
“Great,” R sighed, “that’s great.”  
  
“Well, why don’t you call someone?” Enjolras said, indignantly gesturing to R’s pocket.  
  
“Out of credit, not all of us can afford a contract,” Grantaire smirked, raising his eyebrow.  
  
“Oh come one, that’s not fair,” Enjolras rubbed his hand over his eyes, “why are you always like this?”  
  
“Like what?” Grantaire argued, his lip sticking out; his eyebrow staying in place.   
  
“Starting something, arguing, those snide remarks that you know I’ll argue against,” Enjolras looked at him, the light in the supply closet shining on his eyes, almost impossibly blue, earnest and round. “I don’t like it, you know.”  
  
“You, you what?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, he was sure he hadn't heard right, he must have missed something.   
  
“I don’t like arguing with you all the time, if you could just see sense-“  
  
“If I could just see sense, if you could come down from your pulpit and actually see-“  
  
“See what?” Enjolras stood from his bucket, and walked over to Grantaire.  
  
“Reality! You should see reality,” Grantaire shouted, standing too so he was nose to nose with Enjolras, pushing him backwards against the walls lined with pots of pain and papers.   
  
“Why can’t you see reality? Why can’t you believe in something? Why is your only goal in life to bother me?” Enjolras jabbed in in the chest with each question, his eyes were wild, cold and icy and entirely unrelenting.  
  
“You wound me Enjolras. Here I thought we were friends,” Grantaire clutched his chest, gasping, his eyes going comically wide.   
  
“Friends.” Enjolras looked at Grantaire incredulously. “In what world would be friends?”  
  
Grantaire was desperately running through his list of comebacks, filing through his brain trying to think of something to say to that without sounding pathetic. He had no idea what he could say to Enjolras, he had no idea that Enjolras didn’t like him.   
  
“I- I thought,” Grantaire started, his mouth gaping like a fish, his hands were grasping at Enjolras’s shirt. “You know when you were younger and parents tell their little girls that the boy’s only pulling her hair cause he likes her.” It came out without him thinking, a vomit of words, that he couldn't hold back. He tried but once he’d started the sentence he couldn't stop it, he looked at Enjolras’s face and watched the dawning of realisation bloom across it.   
  
“You- you-“ Enjolras stared at him, his hands coming up and tracing across Grantaire’s cheeks, “okay, first of all fuck you that’s awful, how could you literally just sit there and berate me in the hopes that I’d figure it out; second how could you let me think I was alone in this, that you didn't like me back?”  
  
“You?” Grantaire’s brain stopped, right there, it broke. He knew what his face must look like, slack jawed and disbelieving.   
  
“I?” Enjolras looked into his eyes, his hands had come to rest on Grantaire’s cheeks.  
  
“All those times I nearly let it slip, we could have had this all out earlier,” Grantaire sighed, dropping his hands to Enjolras’s waist, “can I kiss you?”  
  
“Do you really have to ask?”  
  
“Consent is the most important thing, or did you forget?” Grantaire smirked, Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but his words come out as a strangled sort of yelp, muffled by Grantaire’s lips on his. Enjy’s lips are chapped, though he could taste the chapstick that he’d obviously applied earlier. His hands held on to Enjolras’s hips so hard that he was sure Enjy would have bruises there. He could feel as Enjolras melted into him, leaning forward and pressing against his body, he pushed forward slightly pressing Enjy back into the shelves. “We could have been doing this for, how long?”  
  
“Since… sophomore year,” Enjolras muttered.  
  
“Sophomore year,” Grantaire laughed a little and dropped his head onto Enjolras’s chest, “sophomore year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos keeps me writing and comments make my day!!


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